


boba is extra cold when it snows

by charlie_p



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Camping, Christmas, Confessions, First Kiss, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28982658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlie_p/pseuds/charlie_p
Summary: Aran's family is out of town for Christmas, so he invites Kita to spend the holiday with him at his grandparents' cabin.Unloading only takes one and a half trips up and down the driveway, after which Kita is left floundering and taskless. He stands in the layer of crunchy slush, ignoring the toe-numbing cold that forces him to wipe his nose at thirty-second intervals. A few heavy crunches later, Aran is standing beside him. Hand propped over his eyebrow, silent. Their breath mingles in little stagnant clouds, settling slowly in the windless freeze. For a moment, the only thing Kita can hear is Aran's slow exhales. Then, a polyester rustle. Aran has looked over at him. Dropped his hand."It's nice out here, isn't it?" lingers softly between them.Kita nods, risks a glance over. There's a brief electric jolt of eye contact, before Aran turns away, sunlight painting his cheek in strips of orange. Kita resists the impulse to trace the light with his fingertip, track from Aran's brow down to his cheekbone, along his jaw, the soft triangle of skin where his neck vanishes into his coat.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Ojiro Aran
Comments: 14
Kudos: 92





	boba is extra cold when it snows

**Author's Note:**

> this is a love letter to my boba addiction and also to what i wish my gay high school life had been.  
> i've been writing for a long time but only got into haikyuu during quarantine and this is the first fic i've finished in the fandom. fanfiction is fun! i like it!  
> idk what it's like to be biracial in japan... because i am neither biracial nor japanese... but i personally headcanon Aran as having a black american mother and japanese father. just fyi.

Kita has exactly two tapioca pearls in his mouth when Aran asks. He must have waited for Kita to be preoccupied, Kita concludes, because it's objectively strange to ask your friend for a secluded weekend cabin getaway on _Christmas_. They're well into high school now- most of their friends will be spending the holiday holed up and sucking face somewhere. But Kita manages not to choke on the boba: he bites the left pearl in half, swallows the pieces, then calmly bites into the other. 

Aran scrambles to explain himself. "I don't mean- like, not like that- it's just that, well, my parents are going to be out of town because my mom's family is flying over from America, but they don't have space for all of us, so it's just my parents going, and my siblings are, well, I don't want to be alone in the house with like, multiple couples, ya know? And I've been to the cabin alone before, I can drive us there, it's got electricity and toilets and everything, I'm not going to murder you-" 

Kita swallows his boba. "I'm a little concerned that you think I would assume that." 

Aran's face contorts as he attempts to suck at least three- no, Kita counts, maybe four- conglomerate tapioca pearls through his straw. Kita mentally runs through the steps of the Heimlich maneuver: fists against the navel, in and up.

Aran survives the tapioca lump with some coughing and continues. "I don't know, man, you _would_ worry about that kind of thing. But do you think you'll be able to go? It's really nice out there. We can hike and watch movies and stuff. Free Christmas getaway." 

Kita shrugs. He really doesn't know if he'll be able to. "I'll find out," he promises. Then, as he begins to turn down the street where their routes home diverge, he looks over his shoulder. Hesitates before calling out, "I really would like to go, though." 

His first thought at Aran's question is that his grandmother won’t manage on her own in the bleak weather, too old and frail to break down logs and haul them to the corrugated tin shelter that keeps the firewood dry. She fixes Kita with a cold stare when he brings up this concern, slaps him on the shoulder with the kind of force Atsumu reserves for spikes on particularly excitable days. 

“What do you think I did before you were big enough to do the housework?” she grunts as Kita rubs his shoulder, “I’m not helpless, you know. Go have fun with your friend.” 

\---

That night, it takes Kita longer than normal to get comfortable in bed. He ends up flat on his back, eyes fixed to the ceiling, where a strip of orange seeps through the blinds from the streetlight outside. Shuts his eyes. Tries to envision sinking down a well, but in a world where he can breathe underwater. He finds himself floating only a few feet down, a thought pinging incessantly at the surface above him. 

Why did Aran invite him, of all people? Aran is popular. Aran has lots of friends outside of volleyball. Not that Kita feels inferior to him in this respect, but it just seems objectively odd that Kita would be the top pick. _Maybe,_ whispers Kita’s brain, _he invited someone else first, but they couldn’t go._

Kita mulls over this for a moment, then decides it’s unhelpful. _No point worrying about that,_ replies Kita to himself. _Aran invited me. I enjoy spending time with him._

His brain agrees with this, supplying helpful images of sunny walks home and bumping shoulders and the way Aran looks when they win a match. 

_Aran is my friend,_ Kita thinks, a sleepy smile spreading over his face. _That’s so cool._ Sinks further. _Aran, Aran, Aran. Aran is my friend._

_\----_

And so, Kita finds himself loading his futon and overnight bag and coat into the back of Aran’s car. The car is comically small for Aran- for both of them, really- but Kita doesn’t have a steering wheel crammed between his chest and the dashboard, and Kita is not six feet tall. 

Aran waves his left arm around a lot when he talks, occasionally flailing close enough to Kita’s face in their mutual clown car that Kita can smell what must be his shower gel, a warm hint of almond mixed with something piney. 

Aran also thinks the Miya twins lack basic sentience. “But in, like, the same way that, like, really stupid dogs do. Like they could absolutely rip your face off, but ya want to. Like. Feed them and shit.” 

“You could almost argue that they’ve domesticated _us_ ,” Kita responds after a moment, “we’ve just co-evolved with them long enough that we can’t resist the parental urge.”

After a long sideways glance, during which the only sound in the car is the damp squeak of the windshield wipers, Aran lets out a bark of a laugh. 

“Shin, did ya- did ya just make a joke? In response to my joke?”

Kita cracks a grin and stares at the dashboard instead of answering. After a moment, he responds, "I don't know, what do you think?" 

Aran lets out a groan and claps a broad hand onto Kita's shoulder. 

"You're killin' me, Shin," he says finally. Gives Kita's shoulder a warm squeeze, and then moves up to swat lightly at the back of his neck. When he sets his hand back on the steering wheel, Kita's skin still burns where his palm had rested.

\---

Unloading only takes one and a half trips up and down the driveway, after which Kita is left floundering and taskless. He stands in the layer of crunchy slush, ignoring the toe-numbing cold that forces him to wipe his nose at thirty-second intervals. A few heavy crunches later, Aran is standing beside him. Hand propped over his eyebrow, silent. Their breath mingles in little stagnant clouds, settling slowly in the windless freeze. For a moment, the only thing Kita can hear is Aran's slow exhales. Then, a polyester rustle. Aran has looked over at him. Dropped his hand. 

"It's nice out here, isn't it?" lingers softly between them.

Kita nods, risks a glance over. There's a brief electric jolt of eye contact, before Aran turns away, sunlight painting his cheek in strips of orange. Kita resists the impulse to trace the light with his fingertip, track from Aran's brow down to his cheekbone, along his jaw, the soft triangle of skin where his neck vanishes into his coat.

"We should head inside," Kita says after a few beats, gaze focused just beyond Aran's head, "I don't want you to get sick."

"Okay," Aran responds. Okay. Turns and begins to shuffle his way back through the snow. 

\---

The cabin is small. There are two rooms, speaking generously, though one of them is barely big enough for Aran and Kita to lay out their beds side-by-side. Aran turns the heat on when they duck inside, vanishes into the kitchen. Kita busies himself laying out their futons and slips into house shoes, padding over to the kotatsu. 

When Aran emerges a moment later, he's carrying two steaming mugs. 

"Hot chocolate," he says by way of explanation. 

Of course. Kita cracks a grin. "I forget that it's Christmas Eve," he responds, taking the offered handle. The heat radiates through his fingers. 

Aran settles in front of him, shuffling forward until his legs meet Kita's own under the kotatsu. Sips at his hot chocolate and winces, setting it down. 

"God, that's hot. Be careful." Aran nods towards Kita's cup. "And yeah, me too. It's such a couple's holiday…" 

"I'm surprised you're not dating anyone," Kita remarks. Surprised he doesn't have anyone else to spend Christmas with. Feels Aran's leg twitch where it meets his own.

Aran shrugs. "Geez, you're blunt as ever. I- yeah, I don't know. My parents want me to, you know, find a nice Japanese girl, introduce her to my Dad's side, whatever. It's harder than it looks." His face twists for a moment, brief enough that Kita almost misses it. 

Aran is _objectively_ attractive. Kita says as much, but Aran responds with a laugh that doesn't reach his eyes. 

"Volleyball helps, I guess, but a lot of girls. You know." 

He gestures at the dark skin of his forearm like an explanation is written there. Kita supposes there is. Glances at his own sunset-tan arm, at the puckered scar of a mosquito bite that shimmers there against his skin. There's no need for Kita to respond; this is a struggle he knows nothing about. 

"Plus," Aran adds, almost as an afterthought, "I don't even like girls."

This is news to Kita. An image of the girl from earlier that month, eyes downcast, friends giggling in a semicircle around her as she thrust a confession into his hands, pops unbidden into his mind. Kita had turned her down, as respectfully as he could.

"Heh. Me neither, I think."

"Really? Uh, that's nice to know. I- I'm glad I'm not, uh…" Aran gestures uselessly again, which he seems to do a lot. 

Kita cracks a rare grin. "The _only_ one?" A nod from Aran. "Atsumu won't shut up about some kid from All-Japan, so I wouldn't even say it's just us." 

Aran cocks an eyebrow, but seems too distracted with cooling his hot chocolate to palatable temperatures to offer his own commentary. 

"Do you. Uh. Do you like any... guys, then?" offers Aran finally.

Kita considers this question, rolls it around in his hands like a ball of drying mud that he can't quite shape into a perfect sphere. Takes another sip, observes Aran out of the corner of his eye. 

He thinks about the powerful snap of Aran's body when he rips a spike through a triple-man block. He thinks about the calm that buzzes through his chest as he watches Aran captain on the court, about walking home intentionally slow and the feeling of fingertips brushing on sweaty cups of boba. About the way he looks right now, sharp curve of his cheekbone cast with a halo of early-evening light. 

"I might," he responds finally. "I'm not really sure one way or another."

Aran reaches forward to set his mug on the low table in front of him. Kita decides that he could spend forever suspended in this moment, in the way the blanket stretches across Aran's shoulder as he leans, in the way the light streaming in from the window basks him in an almost regal glow. 

"What would help you decide?" 

This question sends an icy ripple through the base of Kita's stomach. Aran's hand lingers on the table halfway between them, fingers millimeters away from abandoning the mug altogether. Kita's mouth feels too dry to respond, simultaneously stuffed with cotton and empty except for the response he _knows_ he should give. It feels conceited to assume that Aran could be flirting with him- Aran, who he's sure could get a modelling contract after graduation just as surely as his games will be crowded with pro league scouts in the coming months. And yet. Aran's hand hasn't moved, and his eyes, which Kita is just now noticing are the same color as the tide pools by his grandmother's beach house, are locked onto Kita's in an unwavering question. 

“Maybe _you_ could.”

The words worm their way out of Kita’s mouth, rushed and near-whispered, before his brain can act to stop them. His heart beats in his ears, a warm sticky sort of heat crawling up his neck until he wants to curl in on himself and bite his fist and scream until Aran vaporizes into the afternoon air. 

Aran’s eyes widen a fraction. Kita unfolds his own fingers to rest a hair's-width away from Aran’s fingertips. He refuses to meet Aran’s gaze, refuses to say anything, paralzed with the fear of shattering the air between them. As he takes shallow breaths, he watches Aran’s pinky finger crawl forward one inch, two, until it ghosts over Kita’s knuckles with an electric buzz. Kita snags the errant thought that Aran has beautiful hands. He hasn’t taken a breath in at least fifteen seconds. Maybe fifteen years. 

When he looks up, finally, Aran’s brown fingers resting warm and careful across his own tan ones, Aran seems as frozen as he is. 

“Is this… okay?” croaks Aran, as though he’s just remembered how to work his jaw. 

A belated bubble of excitement begins to expand from Kita’s stomach, rushing through his shoulders and knees and making his nose itch and the corners of his mouth fight an overwhelming grin. 

“Yeah,” says Kita as the bubble pops, surging forward to interlace his fingers with Aran’s and squeeze, “yeah,” no longer fighting the grin, which seems to be eating his expression whole, “this is okay.”

Aran explodes in a smile, pulling Kita’s palm closer to his. “Okay,” he says. Tries again. “Okay, okay, wow. I like you. Is that- do you- sorry, is that weird?”

Kita shakes his head, and, still too shell-shocked to filter his speech, blurts “You look really good when you smile.”

And now they’re both laughing, tied together by one precious point of contact, fingers warm with static electricity. Kita doesn’t think he could pull his hand away if they both tried-- every point on his body has shifted to be closer to Aran, drawn by the same steady magnetism that commands the team’s attention mid-match. 

"Could you… do you want to…" Aran gestures to the floor beside him with his free hand, vaguely motioning for Kita to scoot closer. 

Wordlessly, Kita shuffles around the kotatsu to press into Aran's side, knees touching. They sit like that for a moment, pink sunset light beginning to edge around the corners of the wall. Aran sucks in a deep breath, and in a flurry of motion, wraps both of his arms around Kita's torso, pressing his forehead square into Kita's shoulder. 

"I can't believe you like me," mumbles Aran. "You have no idea how much I- god, Shin, you're so amazing, I like you so much." His voice is muffled into Kita's jacket, breath bleeding hot across his skin. 

Kita, still smiling impossibly wide, lets out a breathy laugh and frees an arm to wrap it around Aran's shoulders, pulling him against his chest. He rests the other on the back of Aran's head, shifting so that Aran's arms are locked tight around his midsection. Kita doesn't think he can form words. Instead, he lets his fingertips drift over the back of Aran's shirt, tracing his shoulderblades in light repetition. Watches his back expand and contract with each breath, face still pressed firmly against the base of Kita's ribcage. Wonders if it's actually Aran's broad shoulders radiating heat through his sternum, or if he'd fallen asleep with a cat on his chest and the entire exchange had been a cruel dream. The thought sends a jolt to the base of Kita's stomach. 

"Pinch me, will you?" murmurs Kita. 

Aran turns his head to look up, eyebrow cocked. Kita opens his mouth to explain himself- he has to make sure this is all _real_ \- as Aran delivers a sharp pinch to his side. _Definitely_ real. The ticklish sting sends Kita squirming with a yelp, collapsing onto his back with Aran now shaking with laughter across his chest. 

"You did it too hard on purpose," declares Kita to the ceiling. 

Aran barks out a laugh and maneuvers more of his weight onto Kita's torso, head now resting in the crook of Kita's neck. "Yeah," he replies into the skin there. 

Kita is suddenly aware of the way Aran's breath ghosts over his collarbone, evening stubble poking into the side of his neck. His breath catches in his throat. They're so close, so close-

Aran interrupts the silence. "Have you ever kissed anyone, Shinsuke?" he asks, voice small. 

A warm shudder runs down Kita's spine at the way Aran's lips brush against his skin as he speaks. His body is so warm against Kita's, so heavy- Kita feels a burn creeping up the back of his neck, through his ears, heart hammering against his ribs. 

"No," he replies, even softer. 

Aran pushes himself onto his forearms. Shifts to the side. Looks down and over at Kita, who is currently positive that he's running a medically dangerous fever. He has never felt this kind of sheer, overwhelming, _heat_ in his life. 

"Do you want to?" 

Kita meets Aran's gaze. 

"Yeah," he replies, and the floor melts away.

Aran's lips are warmer and wetter against his own than Kita could have ever predicted. _Weird, weird, weird, this is so weird,_ Kita thinks, inhaling deep through his nose against the warm dry skin of Aran's cheek. _Weird, weird, weird, but very, very, very, good._ Aran pulls away with a soft smile, eyes fluttering open, and Kita decides he wants more. Places a hand at the base of his skull and pulls Aran down again, letting him collapse softly back against his chest. 

Kita has never felt anything like this before. Not the way Aran's tongue probes against his own, hot and wet, not the way their lips feel sliding against each other, slick with spit, not the way his jaw and breath move in tandem with Aran's, heads tilting and grips tightening in burning rhythm. Aran still smells like pine, Kita realizes, only this time, he gets to taste minty undertones, letting murmured sighs linger between them as Aran shifts to brace a forearm beside Kita's head, cupping his cheek in the other. 

If only Kita could immortalize the moment he pulls away: features bathed in sunset pink, soft smile, staring at Kita. Staring at _Kita_ . Aran Ojiro, beautiful and powerful and confident and funny and successful top-five-ace monster-on-the-court Aran Ojiro, staring down at _him_. 

"Hey," Kita says weakly, rubbing his thumb in small circles across Aran's forearm. 

Aran's smile gets wider, somehow. "Hey," he says, voice a rumble through the inches of air between them. "Was that okay?" 

Kita nods and shuts his eyes and grins. Grins so hard he isn't sure how he is going to stop grinning. Wonders what the team will say when he gets back to school, face stuck in this permanent giddy grin. 

"Yes, yes, yes," he breathes. Looks back into Aran's tide-pool-gray eyes. "That was okay."

\---

They fall asleep curled against each other on their shoved-together futons, the hairs on the top of Kita’s head whispering against Aran’s chin where he had propped himself up to watch old Olympic matches. 

There's a half-eaten plate of microwave chicken tenders sitting in the kitchen- Christmas tradition, of course- that Kita had somehow forgotten to clean up. Aran notices this when he blinks himself awake, knows that this is probably the first time in Kita's life he's forgotten to put something away. But Aran can't bring himself to wake him, tucked tight into his chest; instead, he runs his fingers through the fluffy ends of Kita's hair, only moving his arm once to make sure it doesn't lose _all_ circulation. 

They have a few more days to themselves. When they get back home, they'll have to decide what to do, what to hide, Aran knows. Knows how traditional Kita pushes himself to be, knows how judgemental an underfunded and overcrowded school like theirs is. Knows the way his own father feels about his some of his mother's more _Western_ friends, knows what kind of media treatment gay professional athletes get. He knows all of this. 

But for now, Kita's silvery hair is pressed against his shoulder. For now, a sliver of morning light is painting his cheek in gold. For now, amongst miles of silent gleaming snow-blanketed forest, he can hold Kita tight against his chest and smile into his hair and pretend the next two days will last forever. 

For now, he doesn't have to let go.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this please leave a comment and/or kudo it will make me cry tears of joy.  
> i honestly don't know what it's like being lgbtq in japan, but i feel like there's a distinct lack of fics in general that focus on queer themes. not that it's bad to want to write an lgbtq romance story where homophobia isn't involved, but it's something i personally want to try to incorporate, as it reflects my own experience. so i felt like i had to add a little reality check at the end there.  
> come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/gogurtenthusia1?s=20)! unless you're a minor then please don't


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